


the righteous side of hell

by maidofmist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (mostly in the past), Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fake News in Space!, Force Bond (Star Wars), Multi, Political Drama and Force Shenanigans, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Rating May Change, Skywalker Family Drama, Slow Burn, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, courtesy of Kylo Ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:51:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidofmist/pseuds/maidofmist
Summary: Quiet. It’s never been so quiet.It’s only when the dust settles, when he’s wiped the salt of Crait from his boots, when he seals the door to his quarters on the Finalizer, that Kylo Ren notices.





	1. Prologue: lost myself into the night

** HoloNet News **

Breaking News - 23.12.34

 _Daily Moof-Milker_ faces criticism for **controversial article** , defends anonymous author - now

Resistance leadership to hold **press conference** tomorrow, location top secret - 1 hr ago

Reactions to **destruction of Hosnian System** \- updated 1 hr ago

 **Sullust, Tarabba, Sluis sectors** fall to First Order forces - 6 hrs ago

 **Luke Skywalker** returns? Rumors abound - updated 8 hrs ago

 **Anthana Tarkin:** First Order represents “a bright future for the galaxy” - 10 hrs ago

Chaos in the wake of **Hosnian cataclysm** \- 12 hrs ago

 **Eriadu** becomes latest system to voluntarily join First Order - 15 hrs ago

 

* * *

 

  **Who IS the Supreme Leader? And Other Pressing Questions about Our New Overlords**

Anonymous, _The Daily Moof-Milker_ , 22.12.34

As the First Order sweeps across the Galactic South and West with no signs of stopping any time soon, I have been hard at work uncovering everything you need to know about the newest galactic conquerors. (To the First Order Security Bureau officer reading this, I mean that with the utmost respect and am not in any way a spy.)

For much of the past decade, the galaxy has watched as the First Order began its expansion out from the Unknown Regions, some with greater concern than others. Time and again politicians, corporate execs, and military leaders alike derided them as “ill-organized, poorly-equipped, and badly funded” who, in the words of the late Major Lonno Deso of the New Republic Starfleet, “use propaganda and fear to inflate their strength and their importance.”

In retrospect, perhaps we should have listened more closely to those warning us of doom and destruction. Now, the New Republic and its Starfleet are no more, blown to dust by the evidently _very_ well-equipped First Order. Now we face the Empire reborn, more brutal and more ambitious than ever.

(Again, dear FOrSec officer, I write with all due deference.)

But what is the First Order? Who leads it? What are its goals? Is there any way to stop them? To appease them?

[Image of First Order Insignia]

To start with the easiest questions - the aims of the First Order have been made inescapably clear by this point. Their expansive propaganda campaigns have become intimately familiar for anyone following galactic politics. They want to restore military control of the galaxy and oppress all those who oppose them (or who don’t look like them. Or act like them. Or think like them.) Oh wait - I mean they want to restore order to the galaxy and improve life for all who’ve suffered under the tyranny and chaos of the New Republic. Sorry, my FOrSec friend.

Question two is more complicated. As familiar as we, the people, have become with the public face of the First Order (in the form of the inimitably fanatical and pasty-faced General Armitage Hux, age 34, son of Imperial war criminal Brendol Hux, commandant of the Arkanis Academy), mystery shrouds the internal workings of the most powerful military in the galaxy. We know that it is headed by the Supreme Leader, a being known only as Snoke, and run by its military High Command, a council of admirals and generals, including the eternally charming Hux.

[Still of General Hux, from a widely distributed recruitment video]

But rumors abound in the wake of the destruction of the Hosnian system and Starkiller Base, the most credible of which (and I use the term lightly) claiming that Snoke is dead and their flagship destroyed. The most outlandish are saying that Luke Skywalker himself appeared from thin air to slay the Supreme Leader in single combat and lay waste to his armies.

It remains to be seen if there is even a grain of truth to these rumors, unlikely as it seems. In the days since Hosnian, the First Order has more than tripled the number of systems beneath its flag in the charted galaxy - and more flock to them every minute rather than fall beneath their military might.

[Map of the galaxy showing current allegiances]

Hypothetically, however, if the First Order has lost its Supreme Leader, then they could perhaps be at their most vulnerable - not only militarily and politically, but also in terms of their ability to prevent information from leaking through their truly awe-inspiring censoring process. If Snoke is indeed dead, then the process of replacing him could tell us more about the First Order, its hierarchy, and its weaknesses than all the Republic espionage efforts combined. Will High Command select a new head of state? Will they fight amongst themselves for the title of Supreme Leader? Is there an heir apparent waiting in the wings? The answer to the question of stopping the First Order could very well hinge on what happens in the next few weeks.

We can only wait and see. And hope the whole monstrosity falls apart before too many more star systems are decimated. Meanwhile, we, the ordinary citizens of the galaxy, must wait once more for our fates to be decided by those with the biggest guns and the deepest pockets.

You must forgive me, dear reader, if I indulge in some well-earned pessimism. There’s not much hope to go around after 50 years of this kind of power-struggle. And I’ll send you my resume when your fleet reaches Coruscant, dear FOrSec officer friend. General Hux could use a new speechwriter.

 

* * *

 

Quiet. It’s never been so quiet.

It’s only when the dust settles, when he’s wiped the salt of Crait from his boots, when he seals the door to his quarters on the _Finalizer_ , that Kylo Ren notices.

Slumped over on the edge of his bed, he puzzles over the lack of noise. After spending so much on his life in the black, the ever-present hum of the _Finalizer_ ’s massive reactor barely registers in his brain, true, but it was still there, more comforting than a lullaby.

It’s quiet.

He’s alone for the first time in days. No Hux fretting shrilly in his ear. It’s quiet. No Stormtroppers marching behind him, their boots an ominous tattoo. No barked commands, no whine of blaster fire, no explosions. So quiet. Even the tooth-rattling hum of his lightsaber has ceased.

It should be calming. It should be peaceful. [as peaceful as a monster deserves.]

It’s not.

His hands fist in his hair.

It’s quiet it’s quiet its quiet itsquiet itsquietquietquietquiet.

He pulls.

The skin around his scar [days old, still burning, marking you. monster. her monster] tightens painfully, dragging him back into semi-lucid consciousness.

It’s quiet.

In his mind.

He’s alone.

In his mind.

No Skywalker. [left you years ago.]

No ~~Mama~~ ~~Mother~~ ~~Leia~~ General. [hates you now for what you’ve done, what you’ve destroyed.]

No ~~Rey~~ girl. [abandoned you like everyone else.]

No ~~Master~~ ~~enemy~~ Snoke.

He screams. Curls into himself. Digs through his own head like it’s ~~Dameron~~ ~~’s~~ ~~the girl~~ ~~’s~~. Quiet. Too quiet.

The room shakes around him, as hard as the tremors wracking his cringing form.

[just a child ~~in a mask~~.]

itsquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquiet

The room breaks around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me at [maid-of-mist](http://maid-of-mist.tumblr.com/)


	2. a world so cold and empty

Eleven hours into the day cycle and the overgrown child to whom he’s now forced to kowtow has yet to leave his quarters. He wouldn’t give a damn under ordinary circumstances, or even extraordinary ones, but he has scheduled a meeting of High Command at 1200 hours, specifically to deal with the many problems created by Ren himself.

If the useless brat is still abed, Hux will kill someone then and there. Preferably the new Supreme Leader. Himself, if it comes down to it. He considers bringing (disposable) back-up.

He flags down a junior officer (not one of his - one of the evacuees from the _Supremacy_?), directing her to follow him.

Ren’s quarters aren’t far from Hux’s own on the deck reserved for senior command, just down from the bridge. He’d resented the placement until now - surely Ren belonged in the Special Forces habitation sector, or in the visitor’s quarters, existing as he did outside military command - but now…

Well, Hux supposes, Ren has earned his place in the chain of command the way the rest of them have. With lies and spilled blood.

Perhaps they should see about finding new quarters for their new Supreme Leader. As far away from Hux’s as possible. Preferably on another ship. Or in another galaxy.

When he and the lieutenant arrive outside Ren’s door, Hux steps to the side to enter his override code, leaving the increasingly nervous looking girl the sole visible target for Ren’s wrath. The door slides open and–

Nothing happens.

The lieutenant doesn’t collapse, choking on her own breath. Nothing is hurled at them. There is no screaming nor any catty remarks.

Hux glances at the lieutenant. She is staring wide-eyed into the room, mouth slightly open.

Hearing no signs of movement, Hux moves next to her, bracing himself for whatever lies on the other side.

-

Destruction. No Ren. Broken glass and dented durasteel litter the main room. The dining table is overturned, the remnants of Ren’s uneaten supper smashed into the floor and on the walls. The only chair sticks out of one of the two doors leading off the main room.

Hux sighs and steps into the room, stepping over the puddle of ink surrounding the remnants of an antique inkwell.

The lieutenant stays rooted to the spot.

“Send for a cleaning crew,” Hux instructs her in a moment of mercy he fears he will soon regret, “and go organize new quarters for the Supreme Leader.” The less she sees of this destruction, the more contained the gossip will be.

She salutes with a grateful “Yes, sir,” and leaves, the door sliding shut as she turns sharply on her heel.

Drawing a deep breath, one that hopefully won’t be his last, Hux squares his shoulders and strides purposefully towards the door without the chair in it, glass crunching underfoot.

“R- Supreme Leader, I’m coming in,” he announces as the door slides open, sticking halfway with an unpleasant crunch.

Ren’s tantrum has wrought even more destruction in his bedroom than in the outer chamber. Ren is at first glance nowhere in evidence. The scattered debris, shredded bedclothes, and shattered furniture conspire with the erstwhile Supreme Leader to send Hux’s blood pressure skyrocketing. A deep breath. The man must be here somewhere.

Or not. Hux wouldn’t put it past the cretin to leave his quarters in this sort of state and fuck off to who-knows-where. He turns to go check the room behind the door with the chair in it. And stops.

Two dark, piercing eyes stare at him from the epicenter of the destruction. What Hux took to be a pile of soiled bedding (black, like the rest of Ren’s decor) is the Supreme Leader himself, collapsed in a heap by the foot of his bed.

Ren says nothing. Offers no explanation for his absence from the bridge. For this mess. Just stares at Hux. The expression is eerily familiar - he’s seen that look on the faces of those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Ren’s Force-enhanced mindfucks.

Hux suppresses a shudder.

Ren doesn’t even twitch.

A minute passes.

Nothing. Ren doesn’t even blink.

Hux draws in a deep breath.

“Supre-” His voice cracks. He swallows. “Supreme Leader. I trust you received notification of this morning’s meeting.” He waits.

Ren blinks.

Another deep breath.

“Supreme Leader?” Hux fights to keep the irritation from his voice.

Ren stares, like a starving beast stares at a scrap of food.

Hux steps forward. Nothing. He takes another step, hand reaching for his blaster almost in spite of himself.

Ren shifts. Hux stops. Raises his hands like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. Freezes in place as Ren heaves himself to his knees, leaning heavily on the bed.

His eyes are still glued to Hux.

“Ren?”

* * *

 

Crunch.

 

“-re-le-r?”

 

“Ren?”

 

Sound. Noise. In the void.

 

Blink.

 

Breathe.

 

Move.

 

He hauls himself up. Braces himself against - bed. His bed.

He’s in his quarters. On the _Finalizer._ With Hux. With _Hux_?

He’s on his feet in an instant. Or an eternity. Everything cuts in. And out. The world spins. Pitches beneath him. His knees buckle.

A sharp shoulder catches him. Rough hands guide him down to sit on the bed.

“-right, Ren?” Hux’s harsh, affected Core-world accent. Pushes. Pulls. Breaks through the fog.

How long - has he lain there? When did he fall - off the bed? A disquieting cold tightens its grip around his neck. He’d lain there, on the ground, like a beaten _dog_ , for Force-knows-how-long. Vulnerable. Insensate. He hadn’t even noticed Hux’s incursion into his _private quarters_.

“—called a meeting of High command,” the red-headed parasite is saying, “—really should have seen to it immediately, but under the circumstances—”

“Why are you in here?” Kylo snarls.

Hux’s sudden step back is gratifying. He’s learning to like the way terror looks on the General.

“As I was saying, Supreme Leader,” he continues, obsequiousness and irritation warring with well-warranted wariness, “High Command is scheduled to meet at 1200 hours to discuss the current situation, as well as your formal investiture, of course.”

Kylo can feel his lips curl in disdain. The fool broke into his quarters for _this_?

“It is already past 1100 hours. As you hadn’t responded to my comm, I thou—”

He shoulders his way past Hux. The fresher door moves with a squeal and sticks two-thirds of the way open. Avoiding his own gaze in the fractured mirror, Kylo splashes his face with water. It’s tepid and stale and does nothing to clear away the lingering lassitude that envelops him like a cloak.

Not like Hux’s grating, irritating voice does, like his never-silent, always-scheming mind breaks through the silence.

[Disgusting. Even now so weak. So reliant on others.]

A shard of broken mirror falls. Smashes itself into a billion pieces in the sink.

Kylo breathes. Braces himself. Inhale. Pulls himself back into his own skin. Exhale. Settles under the weight of a thousand expectations.

It’s almost funny, he thinks as he meets his own bruised and battered gaze in the shards of shattered glass, how even when the world falls to pieces around you, some things never change.

 

* * *

 

It’s loud now, in the Falcon. Loud enough to rival the heat of battle, to Rey’s lonely desert ears. The freighter, though by no means small for a ship of its class, clearly wasn’t built to hold a hundred-odd people.

She can find no respite from the commotion. The noise. For so long, her world was quiet, still, isolated. Nineteen years old and she’s just now figuring out how loud the galaxy can be. Exhaustion drags at her bones, deeper even than the time she broke her ankle and had to drag herself through the guts of a Star Destroyer and back to her speeder.

Has it really only been 72 standard hours since she left? Since her life turned itself on its head? Can that even be possible? Surely this is a sun-poisoned dream and even now she lies slowly desiccating in the sands of the Goazon.

Rey shifts on the little patch of floor she’s claimed for herself in the forward maintenance bay, away from the overcrowded cargo hold and crew quarters. She can still feel the uneasy dreams of those lucky few who’ve managed to find sleep, and the bleak heartache of those who haven’t pulls at her, sapping her remaining reserves. The Resistance lies in shreds around her, and she feels ready to drown in a numbness she can’t explain.

It’s not cold like a desert night. It’s bitter, like tuanulberry tea. It’s empty, like the shock before the blinding pain of a dislocated shoulder hits. It hurts like abandonment, like an outstretched hand and an offer she can’t accept. She’d hate it, if there were an ounce of energy left within her.

Hate is safe. Pain is safe. Anger, bitterness, hope, love, all safe. They’re fuel. They can be channeled. They’ve kept her moving, fighting, breathing for as long as she can remember. Alive in the face of the desert’s indifferent fury.

Now, though. Now she’s met heroes and legends and watched them die. Made friends and watched them fall. Found answers and disappointment in equal measures.

She’s failed. They’ve all failed.

As much as Leia has tried to reassure her, she can still admit that to herself. She must.

But she can’t even be angry about it. With herself or with anyone else. She can’t hate anyone for it, as much as she wants to. Not even—

No. She can’t think about that. Not now. Even thinking about thinking about him is too much.

She reaches out, clumsily. Not toward the block she’s built between herself and _him_ , but closer. To Leia. To his mother.

The General’s shields are solid, and Rey doesn’t press. But even as unpracticed as she is, she can tell that Leia is awake, her muddle of emotions nevertheless a hundred times clearer than the sleeping Resistance fighters.

Should she seek out the other woman? She’s not likely to find sleep as it is.

But—

Would she be a comfort? Or just another burden, adding to Leia’s already unimaginably heavy load? Does she even have time for Rey, nothing from nowhere?

She stays still, wrapped in her spare shock-blanket, buffeted by soundless noise, alien indecision, unfamiliar uncertainty, and the ever-present hyperdrive hum, until a gentle tendril knocks on the walls of her mind and beckons.

She follows, climbing from her maintenance bay haven and into the Falcon’s circular corridor. She makes her way around to the crew’s quarters, sidestepping porg nests and the outstretched limbs of the unlucky few stuck sleeping in the hallway rather than one of the holds.

The door to the crew’s quarters is shut, but as she pauses, debating whether or not to knock, it opens.

Leia waits for her inside, two steaming cups of tea set across from each other on the small table bolted to the wall across from the kitchenette. She’s alone.

“Sit, please.” She gestures to the other chair, the one facing away from the door. “I felt you knocking.” Her small but teasing smile soothes the bite of the rebuke.

“Sorry,” Rey says, fighting down the embarrassment heating her cheeks. “I was just—”

Leia reaches out, placing a gentle, elegant hand on Rey’s arm.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I could use the company. Goodness knows I’ve been alone enough for a lifetime.”

Rey sits. This is why she likes Leia, she thinks. She’s never met a more elegant, formidable woman, but every time Rey starts to feel out of her depth or insecure, Leia knows exactly how to set her at ease, with a smile and a handful of well-chosen words.

Seeing Leia take a delicate sip of the fragrant tea, Rey lifts her own cup, staring warily into its depths. The liquid is a beautiful dark amber, nothing like the blue-black of tuanulberry tea, and it smells divine. She takes a cautious sip.

“It’s good!” She can’t bite back the surprise in her voice. The tea is earthy and smooth, almost sweet. Nowhere near the almost unbearable bitterness of the tea she’s tried before. It reminds her of Takodana and Maz’s cantina, warm and rich.

Leia smiles, just as warmly.

“I’m glad you like it. It was given to me by someone I care about very much.” Her smile remains, but her eyes are unbearably sad.

They both take another sip of tea, silence falling comfortably between them. Rey watches as Leia looks around, drinking in the narrow bunks and the tiny kitchen.

“The kitchen was Han’s wedding gift, you know.”

Rey starts at the sudden rasp of Leia’s voice.

“He wanted to make sure we always had a home.” A tear slips down her kind, wrinkled cheek.

The room blurring around her, Rey reaches across the table and takes Leia’s hand, gripping it tight. Trying to convey all the respect and love and pain she feels for the beautiful heartbroken woman in front of her.

The noise around her quiets. But the silence does not return. Leia’s hand in hers is warm, grounding. The heady scent of the tea soothes her. The numbness settles into a weary melancholy, and Rey drifts away into an almost meditative calm, tears still dripping down her cheeks.

Leia squeezes back, and they stay like that, tears falling, together in mournful vigil for what they’ve lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got away with me so badly omg. I promise there will be actual plot next time. find me at [maid-of-mist](http://maid-of-mist.tumblr.com/)


End file.
